Another Nightmare

I  finally got a night off!  The kids all went to different people’s houses so I get 18 glorious hours completely off!  Endellion and I Skyped and drank last night.  We had so much fun…at least until the maudlin portion of the evening began.  Thankfully, it didn’t last long before we were giggling again and both decided to call it a night and go to bed.

I decided to use the empty house and alcohol to my advantage and masturbate.  The thing is that I don’t orgasm quietly.  Not even a little bit.  When the kids are here I have to expend so much energy being quiet that I don’t ever get the release I desperately need.  The orgasms I experience just leave me feeling bereft because I’m not getting what I need – either physically or emotionally.  I masturbate every couple of weeks simply because it is what my body needs to do.  I do not enjoy it and I resent my body screaming at me that it has needs.  I’m so busy taking care of everyone else that my body’s insistence that it get what it needs just pisses me off.

Last night was different.  I knew I was absolutely alone and I could finally give my body what it so desperately needed.  Complete release.  The first two orgasms were amazing.  Oh, to let completely go and just enjoy them felt so good.  I thought I was finished after the second one.  My body had other ideas.  The third one took over my entire body.  I haven’t had a release like that for a long time.  The last time I came close (ha, pun intended) was three months, two days ago – the last time I was alone in my house.  Yes, it’s been that long since I’ve had a break from the children.

I slept like the dead after that.  Until I didn’t.  I woke up around 5:30 this morning and thought, “Aw, hell no!”  It took me about ten minutes to get back to sleep.  Now I wish I’d just gotten out of bed.  I had a nightmare about Butch (dad), Celia (mom), and of course, Bubba.  I was at home and they all came to visit me.  They just moved right in for a few days, regardless of the fact that I was telling them they couldn’t stay with me.  Now that I’m awake, I realize that my house in the nightmare was not my house in reality.  My brain saved me the pain of having it feel as if they were invading my safe place.

Butch got to work fixing things around the house because that is what he does.  He gets bored if he just has to sit and visit so I always had to make sure there were home improvement projects available when they visited.  Celia was puttering around the kitchen and Bubba was drinking beer.  I was sitting at the dining room table, on my computer, trying to ignore the fact that they were there.  Bubba brought my shoes over to me and made a snide comment about helping me clean the house (which was actually very clean).  I picked up my shoes and said, “You may not treat me like this.  If you truly want to help you would’ve put my shoes by the door instead of trying to make a point about how horrible of a housekeeper you think I am.”

He touched me.  He put his hand on my face and looked at me wistfully, like he missed me.  I stepped away and told him, “Don’t EVER touch me again.  You have no right to touch me.”  He advanced on me with the intent of touching me again simply because I said he couldn’t.  He puffed himself up like he used to do and advanced.  I told him, “I know how to defend myself now.  Don’t even try it.”  He was so intimidating that I ducked around him and went into my bedroom.

Celia was in there.  I told her about all the things that Bubba had been doing since they arrived and she didn’t believe me.  I told her to take a peek out into the living room.  Bubba was on the couch, nearly passed out, with a beer bottle in his hand.  I ran out and grabbed it before it spilled onto my carpet.  She still didn’t see this as a problem!  I looked at her and said, “How can you not believe me?”  Then I listed some of the things he’d done before I left.  She looked at me and simply said that there was no way she could believe that about Bubba and that I was lying to her.  I went out to the living room and told them that they were leaving the following morning.  They weren’t welcome in my home any longer.

I walked outside, into the rain.  I was wearing a rain slicker (this becomes relevant later).  Celia walked out with an umbrella and asked me to go to the grocery store with her.  Butch had suggested she get some groceries for their trip home the next day.  She told me this would give us an opportunity to talk.  As we walked down the street, it became apparent that her idea of us talking involved telling me that I had to get back together with Bubba because he was a good man and he missed me so much.  He was in so much pain because of what I’d done to him.

I screamed at her, “He’s in pain?  He doesn’t know the meaning of the word except for how to inflict it!  You want to see pain, look at me, look at my children.  They ooze it from their pores because he continues to abuse them!  How dare you think Bubba is in pain when I’m left dealing with all the fall out of what he did to us!  You want pain, I’ll show you pain!!!”  I whipped of the rain slicker and bared my heart for Celia.  It was a weird metaphorical thing where she could see my heart and how it had been shattered into a million pieces and how I was pain stakingly piecing it back together, shard by shard.  She looked me in the eye and said, “I don’t believe you.”

And in that weird space between dreaming and waking, I realized I didn’t have to do this.  I didn’t have to bare anything to Celia.  I took over the dream.  I stood up straight, put on my bitch face, and said, “You are dead to me.  A mother would not act as you do.  I have no mother because you are no mother.”  I felt strength pour into me and knew that she had no more power over me.

I came fully awake then.  The reality of everything hit me.  My parents really are dead to me.  They are as lost to me as if they were really dead only I don’t have that solace.  I sobbed.  They still live but they live in another universe that can’t exist for me, that I won’t let exist for me.  Some of the pieces of my heart that I’d assembled disintegrated this morning.  There is no getting them back; no spackling them back into any type of semblance of my heart.  I will have to find something else to cover that hole.  There will be a permanent scar but then again, my heart is full of them.

I woke up exhausted.  I wish I could blame last night’s alcohol for the exhaustion but I simply can’t.  It was the nightmare, the reliving of my parents hurting me.

The loneliness of being an orphan.

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